


Meetings of Charm

by dapatty



Category: Supernatural/White Collar
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-01
Updated: 2010-12-01
Packaged: 2017-10-23 00:21:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/244208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dapatty/pseuds/dapatty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neal never expected to see Dean Winchester again, mainly because he thought he was dead, that’s not stopping Dean from walking back into Neal’s life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Meetings of Charm

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [](http://liliaeth.livejournal.com/profile)[**liliaeth**](http://liliaeth.livejournal.com/) for making such wonderful art to be inspired by. I hope you like what I've come up with. And hats off to my beta, [](http://sweetmusic-27.livejournal.com/profile)[**sweetmusic_27**](http://sweetmusic-27.livejournal.com/), the best parts are hers. Written originally for the lj challenge comm [Pictures2Words](http://pictures2words.livejournal.com/).

[   
](http://pics.livejournal.com/dapatty/pic/0001xp1r/)

“You’ll never guess who called me,” Mozzie declared. Positive in his convictions that radiated off of him as he pushed his glasses up his nose and adjusted his frayed bow tie.

“Probably not,” Neal agreed, smiling at Mozzie a little. He could probably guess correctly, but it’s always a toss-up when dealing with his best friend. Mozzie could have talked to the Pope for all Neal knew. In fact, Neal could just see him getting hold of some special Vatican line just to ask the Pope about an ancient conspiracy from the thirteenth century or something.

“Dean Winchester,” Mozzie stated and downed the rest of his gin.

Neal almost dropped his wine glass. “You’re right, Moz. I would have never guessed.” Neal had only known that Dean was even alive for six months. He’d been trying to just wrap his mind around it and hadn’t had any idea how Moz would take the news.

“Is it just me or wasn’t he dead?” Mozzie asked, brandishing his empty glass.

“He is, apparently,” Neal answered, taking Moz’s glass, refilling it and downing the shot himself, for strength.  
“What do you mean, ‘apparently‘? Have you already talked to him?” Mozzie accused, maybe sounding just a little hurt.

Right, Neal thought. He might’ve not mentioned the whole ‘knowing Dean was alive’ thing to Mozzie. It’s so easy to forget these things. Things like mentioning a monster-hunting fellow con man has returned from the dead by mysterious means. Yep, hard to remember to mention something like that to a veteran paranoid. In Neal’s defense, it was for his own good. Although, to be honest, Moz was probably more pissed that Neal would deprive him of conversations about cartoons from the 1980s with a fellow connoisseur. And Neal totally wasn’t keeping Dean to himself or anything. Much.

“Hmmph. You’ll have to buy the whiskey,” Mozzie declared, letting the whole thing slide, magnanimously pouring himself another gin.

“Why?” Neal asked, trying to shake off this numb, blindsided feeling, like maybe he’d dodged a bullet where Mozzie was concerned.

“Dean’ll be in town soon,” he downed his glass and elaborated, “to pick up new paperwork.”

“I taught him all that,” Neal argued, frowning a little. Why hadn’t Dean called him? It was fine to save Neal from a Black Dog in the park, but not to call when he needed something as trivial as paperwork? Sometimes the whole Winchester weltanschauung eluded him.

“You taught him badge forgeries,” Mozzie corrected, with a dismissive wave of hand. “Not legit paperwork to join the land of mostly honest, tax-paying Americans.”

“But he could do that. He’s clever,” Neal said. Dean was very clever in many ways, some of which were forbidden, and some that Neal couldn’t let himself think about again. He wondered if Dean still had that scar near his hip and how much it had faded, if at all. Dean had a lot of scars near his hips, come to think.

“But apparently he wants to do everything right this time, without taking any chances,” Mozzie shrugged.

“That’s interesting,” Neal said conversationally, fighting the pit of dread making his stomach feel leaden. “Why?” he asked, against better judgment.

“Well apparently he’s got a serious girlfriend with a kid,” Mozzie explained, making very little movement.

“Lisa Braden?” Neal hedged a guess holding onto the table. Maybe it could keep him from falling off the earth. Dean confessed a soft spot for her once. To her credit, she sounded kind of amazing and was a yoga instructor. All Neal felt like he had was a hat, all of a sudden.

“That’s the girl,” Mozzie answered, studying Neal’s face, his gaze shrewd.

Neal nodded and asked, “So, when’s he get to town?”

***

Infuriating. That’s the word Dean would use to describe Neal Caffrey. But here he was, back in town, hanging on every word the floppy-haired smooth talker said. It would be pathetic if he weren’t having so much fun, more than he had in a long time. And it had only been two minutes. Neal found out he was coming to town and sought him out. Dean had almost forgotten how determined Neal could be when he‘d made up his mind. It was too bad he was still was ass-deep in grief and a little too drunk to take any advantage of Neal.

“Have you even seen yourself?” Dean asked, hiding his amusement behind a scowl.

“What?” Neal smirked, giving his hat a flip and placing it smoothly back on his head. (Like fucking Sinatra or something, Dean was thinking.) Neal had witnessed the look on Dean’s face before. Burke looked at Neal with the same countenance all the time. Fondness with a heavy mix of exasperation. It only made Caffrey smile more.

“Nevermind,” Dean shook his head as if to alleviate his frustration. “You know, I’ll just go see Mozzie myself.”

“It’s inexplicable how well you two get along,” Neal mused, falling into step with Dean.

“All it takes is a little common ground,” Dean shrugged.

“Or believing him when he said there was something shifty in the walls of his apartment,” Neal suggested, never minding that Neal had made that call just in an excuse to see Dean again.

“I was just glad it wasn’t rats,” Dean admitted. “Rats are just nasty.”

“And pixies aren’t?” Neal pulled a face.

“Nah,” Dean shrugged, pulling his jacket closer. “Pixies are just prickly.”

“Are you going to tell me why you didn’t call me for this instead of Mozzie? And any excuse involving the FBI doesn’t count.” Neal asked.

“Nope,” Dean said looking away.

“But Mozzie will?” Neal hedged.

“Probably,” Dean admitted. So whatever has brought him to get a new identity isn’t completely off limits. Neal could wait to find out. Even if he didn’t really want to know.

Unbeknownst to him, it had to do with his brother’s dying wish for Dean to try to build a family with a woman from Indiana. If Neal had known in that moment, even he wouldn’t have been sure what action he would have taken. He might have pounced Dean, or let him go. Either way, Dean didn’t give him a choice in the matter.

If only everything could have been as simple as back last fall, when Neal learned that Dean wasn’t dead.

***

 _“Did you really just say, ‘I have to go because a_ black dog _is following me through the park?’” Burke asked. He sounded confused with a side of worried. “Neal, I’ve been trying to trust you here.”_

 _“Peter, I’ll explain later,” Neal promised as the creature gave a deep, guttering growl while ending the call and trying to not quite run, because that would only piss it off._

 _Neal dared a look back to catch a flash of red eyes in the dark just a few yards away-much too close-and promptly tripped on a crack in the sidewalk like some horror movie extra, landing with an ‘oof’ and scratching his palm. He wiped his hand against his suit coat causing it to burn even more while leaving some blood behind. Great._

 _The creature let out a pleased yelp and Neal felt a little bad that Burke was going to have to identify his body, especially with how dirty his suit was getting._

 _He really didn’t want the Black Dog to step into the lamp light, didn’t want to see what was going to devour his innards, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the dark shadow of the monster._

 _“Neal, stay down!” someone shouted. And if Neal didn’t know better he would have thought Dean Winchester yelled it, which was impossible. Dean’d been dead for a little more than three years, not that Neal was counting or missed him or anything like that._

 _Neal didn’t turn toward the voice, instead choosing to stare down the beast, because the idea that Dean was still alive and didn’t call him to let him know made him feel too much at once._

 _A gunshot followed by a stifled howl and monster-sized thunk sounded, while those two glowing orbs that had been the creature’s eyes blinked out. A pair of worn, scuffed boots walked up and stood in Neal’s line of vision._

 _“Got it,” another voice declared._

 _“Good shot, Sammy,” the first voice confirmed. Its owner placed a hand on Neal’s shoulder, causing Neal to at last look up and blink._

 _“Hi,” Dean spoke, maybe a little shyly, or maybe Neal was just that rattled. He was smiling Neal’s smile, though, even if it were a muted version. The one Dean wore when he thought Neal was being ridiculous, the smile being a mixture between fondness and exasperation with an underlying sadness._

 _“Hello Dean,” Neal returned and noticed he was a little older, looked a little more haunted, but there was something present around the edges that hadn’t been there before. Cracks in the façade leaving some of his broken parts showing._

 _Neal had smiled back, despite his aggravations at having fallen on the ground and kept in the dark about Dean’s death._

Neal had no idea that things could go so sideways after that. It didn’t matter how much that Neal had tried to contact Dean, he would never answer. After finding out it was because of the apocalypse, Neal didn’t know if he was more surprised or frustrated.

 **  
_One Year Later_   
**

“So,” Peter said resting his elbows on his desk and leaning toward Neal. “Why are you talking to an apparently twice-dead wanted felon on the doorstep of the office?”

Neal knew it was never good getting the two-finger beckon after he first set foot in the office. It usually meant he was in trouble, and today would be no exception. That’s what he gets for not reminding Dean that hiding in plain sight was a terrible idea, especially when the Feds looking aren’t stupid. That sort of thing only worked in the Purloined Letter.

“It was just lunch at a hot dog stand and it doesn’t count because I didn’t even have a hot dog.” Neal countered. It wasn’t confirmation that he’d met with Dean, but it wasn’t a denial either. Ahh, walking the fine line of omission.

Peter gave him that look that said he was running out of patience with a side of Neal being full of it.

“Besides, he’s apparently dead so I couldn’t have been having lunch with anyone.” Neal reasoned. “Not unless you believe in ghosts.”

“Don’t make me arrest you,” Burke threatened without heat. Neal couldn’t help but stare for a second. Peter was up to something, but he was keeping his cards close to his chest.

“If anyone should be arrested, it’s that cart owner. He was out of mustard. You can’t eat a street dog without mustard. Those are your sage words, if I remember correctly.” Neal sidestepped smiling sweetly. “And theoretically speaking, he’s not the guy you think he is.”

“They never are,” Peter muttered, looking oddly serious.

“He just looks like the guy you think he is,” Neal clarified.

“Get out of my office and go work on the case,” Burke ordered.

“Already leaving,” Neal grinned, quickly stepping out of the door fighting the urge to call Dean and yell at him for being so careless. Dean was back in town after being in Indiana for the better part of a year. To add to Neal’s frustrations, Dean wasn’t ready to talk about why he was in town yet, aside from requesting new fake badges. Neal missed the old days, before both their lives were so complicated.

The first time that Neal had ever laid eyes on Dean Winchester, Dean saved his life. Neal was about to fall ass over tea kettle over a second story ornate stairwell in a mansion in Maine because of an overzealous poltergeist with a zeal for lamp throwing.

***

 _A calloused hand grabbed Neal’s wrist, aborted Neal’s topple, and then helped Neal to right himself. Neal met his rescuer’s eyes, green reminding him of the jade he meant to lift in the deceased’s office, and gave his best grin. Because even though Neal was a little flustered, he would have had to been brain-damaged not to appreciate the handsome young man before him._

 _“I don’t recall homicidal Tiffany lamps being part of the estate sale,” Neal said conversationally._

 _“Those ugly things are Tiffany lamps?” his dashing savior asked, brow furrowed. His second-hand clothes showed that the guy didn’t seem to have a taste for the finer things in life. Neal thought he could show him a thing or two. And judging by how the guy looked him over, Mr. Greeneyes might be interested in learning._

 _Neal rolled his eyes. “I take it this isn’t your usual gig.” It wasn’t a question._

 _“Did my work boots give it away?” the kid cocked an eyebrow. And he was kind of a kid, with something wild tucked in the corners of mouth. Neal would have put him at twenty-two if a day. Not that Neal’s very much older, but still._

 _“I wasn’t looking at your boots,” Neal corrected slyly, letting his smile turn coy and yelped when the kid jerked him down to duck a flying priceless vase._

 _“Look, dude,” the guy said, “not that I’m not enjoying this, even if you kind of scream like a girl. I got to take care of this ghost before it beans one of us with some, apparently-priceless junk.”_

 _“Louis the IVX silver is not junk,” Neal insisted, still holding on to this guy’s coat. “Wait, did you say ghost?”_

 _“Did you think that all this crap was throwing itself around?” the guy asked, lifting an eyebrow and goddamn if it wasn’t the hottest thing Neal had seen outside of a mirror._

 _“Well, the widow O’Malley is kind of intense enough to throw things,” Neal offered not believing a word out of his own mouth._

 _“That tiny, ancient old lady? She’s like a hundred and fifty years old!” the guy protested, checking a compass and kicking a hole in the nearest wall and tossing a bag of some kind inside._

 _“She’s only ninety-two,” Neal countered._

 _“Well, she was spry enough to grab my ass,” the guy admitted, pulling Neal up from his crouch and walking. Neal couldn’t help but follow._

 _“Does your ass have a name?” Neal asked._

 _“Dean,” the guy answered, quirking a smile. “Dean Winchester,” and pulling Neal into a east-facing bedroom. “Does your hair have a name?” Dean asked, kicking another whole in the eastern wall._

 _“Neal Caffrey,” Neal answered._

 _“Sure,” Dean said, disbelieving, shoving a bag inside the hole and it felt like a wave of peace passed over Neal all at once._

 _“What was that?” Neal asked, somewhat bewildered._

 _“Something you wouldn’t believe,” Dean answered, suddenly looking much older. Neal took a step closer, close enough to touch, close enough to breathe the same air._

 _“Dean, get your ass down here!” a gruff, gravely voice called. Dean snapped to attention, his face closed down, and he took a step away from Neal._

 _“Gotta go,” Dean explained, disappointment leaking through his suddenly-flat expression. “See ya around, Caffrey.”_

 _“How can I contact you if I have worthless junk flying at me again?” Neal asked, trying to get just a few more seconds. He hasn’t even gotten to use his A-game here._

 _Dean pulled a ballpoint pen from his coat pocket and scrawled nine digits on Neal’s palm._

 _“You can call me if you run up on any other ghost problems,” Dean offered, giving a little wink, charm back in place._

 _“Or I can just call you?” Neal asked with a small smile and a twinkle in his eye._

 _“Or that,” Dean smirked._

 _So Neal just called him._

 _“So, I have this friend, Mozzie,” Neal started in way of explanation._

 _“Is this a special friend?” Dean asked and Neal could hear his smirk. “Listen, I only do threesomes if a chick is involved.”_

 _Neal had taken to calling Dean on occasion. Just to talk. Just to find out more about ghosts. Just to try and entice Dean back to New England. Dean, who wasn’t Kate. Kate who kept pushing him away, refusing his charm with impatience and a general fatigue. Neal felt like he was grabbing at straws. If he could just pull one more fantastic job, he could give her Paris. Dean didn’t need Paris. Neal liked that._

 _“No, listen,” Neal insisted, chuckling a little. “There’s something in the walls of Mozzie’s apartment. And it’s not rats.”_

 _“Dude, you both live in New York City. In my expert opinion, it’s definitely rats,” Dean said, fumbling with something on his end of the line which sounded like metal on metal._

 _“Since when do rats have little wings, giggle maniacally, and steal Mozzie’s glasses?” Neal challenged._

 _“Fuckin’ pixies? Are you serious?” Dean asked, sounding completely disgusted and a little surprised._

 _“I don’t know. Maybe?” Neal repressed a shudder. First a homicidal ghost and now, apparently, pixies. His life was quickly becoming ridiculous, but it would be kind of great to see Dean again._

 _And it was worth seeing Dean again. Even with his complaining about New York traffic, and the dangers to his car, and the peskiness of miniature fae creatures, and his love of pizza over any other delicious food Neal wanted to tempt him with. Neal was stupidly happy when Dean agreed to come home with him to his pocket-sized apartment._

 _Dean pushed him up against the wall, parting his legs just enough to allow just a the right amount of pressure._

 _“Don’t waste any time, do you?” Neal asked, stealing a kiss._

 _“Don’t have a lot of time to waste,” Dean half shrugged and crowded into Neal’s space, kissing back, nibbling on Neal’s lips and grinding a little into his hip._

 _When they bumped into Neal’s bed, Dean froze._

 _“This your first time?” Neal asked, removing his own shirt then stealing another kiss. Dean kissed back, hesitant but still willing as he removed his own t-shirt._

 _“No. Yes. Kind of,” Dean said without any degree of certainty._

 _Neal smiled. Dean was more than a little cute when he was nervous. Neal kissed him, hand cupping the side of Dean’s face._

 _“I can work with that,” Neal said simply, taking off the rest of his clothes and encouraging Dean to do the same.  
“I’ll let you drive this time,” Neal decided, pouring some of the lube on his fingers and starting to open himself up._

 _“I could take it,” Dean said, defiantly while looking more than a little terrified, too much white around the eyes and a tightness to the corner of his mouth worrying the material of his t-shirt in his hands._

 _“Sure,” Neal said, easing a second finger in, “but that’s not what’s going to happen now.”_

 _“No?” Dean asked, tilting his head looking curious and slightly turned on at the same time. He swallowed and licked his lips. Good._

 _“No,” Neal confirmed. “You are going to take off the rest of your clothes, get one of those condoms, put it on and then lay on the bed so I can ride you.”_

 _“Well okay then,” Dean said, grinning a little, back in the ball game, doing as he was told just as Neal felt like he was prepped enough._

 _Neal climbed onto the foot of the bed, looking at the tense, shorter man. He grinned impishly and bit an ankle, chuckling low in his throat when Dean yelped. He caught Dean’s eye, then, and kissed up the inside of one leg and down the other, then back up as Dean started to make sounds, his eyes occasionally fluttering shut as Neal lingered on the inside of his thigh._

 _“Fuck…” Dean breathed, his cock hard and already leaking.  
“Soon,” Neal purred. He was going to relish this time. Time with this man who never had a moment to enjoy himself. And Neal was going to make it worth his while. And then he’d come back. Then he’d find a moment here or there to stop in New York._

 _Neal settled between Dean’s thighs, ghosting his breath over sensitive skin, enjoying the little twitches he caused. He drew a fingertip along Dean’s length, and that did it. He finally got a whimper out of Dean’s throat. With that, he let Dean’s cock dip into his mouth once, twice, three times, and only then did he sit up, throwing a leg easily over the hunter’s hip. He lined himself up and slicked Dean’s cock with a little more lube, jacking a couple times before easing down with deliberation, causing them both to gasp._

 _“Sweet Jesus,” Dean moaned._

 _“Hardly,” Neal chuckled, starting to work his hips. He built up a quick slip-slide in and out, shifting the angle till Dean hit his prostate, causing him to stutter and Dean to buck in response._

 _Neither of them lasted long. Neal rolled off, spent, with a mutual satisfied grunt. Dean laid there boneless and pleased looking._

 _“That was kind of great,” Dean admitted, after Neal had cleaned them both up and crawled into bed._

 _“Way to be a charmer, Winchester,” Neal smiled._

 _“You know it,” Dean yawned, jaw cracking._

 _  
The morning after, Dean was gathering his stuff, and a few things fell out of his duffle. Neal couldn’t help but notice and take action._

 _“This is your FBI badge?” Neal scoffed, disbelieving that anyone would have the nerve to make such a bad fake, let alone use it._

 _“Yeah, so?” Dean bristled, expression closed off, feathers ruffled._

 _“You, my friend, have got a lot to learn,” Neal grinned, not deterred in the slightest, causing Dean to frown at him. “My only guess that this has worked for you for as long as it has because you must be good enough at flashing it.”_

 _“Oh I’m good at flashing it,” Dean leered._

 _“Oh I know,” Neal smirked. “But seriously. You’re too smart to be using something so half-assed.”_

 _Dean rolled his eyes. “Oh? Then why don’cha show me, Captain Cleverpants.”_

 _“Watch and learn, loudmouth,” Neal instructed and clapped a hand over Dean’s mouth, “with less innuendo this time.”_

 _Which only caused Dean to mutter against his hand and Neal to smile indulgently._

Of course, that had been back in the easy days. Dean strolled back into his life with more baggage than a trust fund tween on a trip to Paris Fashion Week.

***

“Dean Winchester,” Peter Burke greeted, not quite scowling. He mainly looked tired, like Neal’s exploits might just have him to his wits end this time. Dean might just have a little respect for the guy. Burke was actually a man of character and he hadn’t arrested him yet, so that was at least promising.

“I could say you’ve got me mistaken for someone else, but I know you’re not stupid, especially for a Fed,” Dean smirked, but it didn’t quite meet his eyes. The man Burke was looking at wasn’t exactly the cocky jackass from that Baltimore confession video or quite the character that Hendrickson claimed he was. The man standing here looked worn.

“You confidence in my intelligence will help me sleep tonight,” Burke said, fighting a smile.

“Kinky,” Dean snarked.

Burke leveled a look at the eldest Winchester. “This is the part where you call me an old man and roll your eyes, right?”

“It could have been,” Dean shrugged, smirk a little more genuine. “Only if it’s followed by you saying something like it being the reason why Neal likes me.”

“But then I’d just be another old predictable Fed,” Burke said, glimmer of a smile in the corner of his mouth.

“There’s nothing wrong with a little normal,” Dean shrugged, quick flash of devastation crossing his face.

“Lisa Braeden agrees. She asked how you were,” Burke said, matter-of-factly, and Dean’s face hardened, living up to some of the danger in his file.

Burke held up a hand, “I only say that because she reminds me a little of my wife. An extraordinary girl. And she threatened bodily harm if you didn’t call her tonight to let her know that you were as okay as you can be, whatever that means.”

Dean sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “How much bodily harm?”

“Call your girlfriend, don’t get Neal in any more trouble than usual, and I didn’t see you,” Burke said waving Dean off.

“Sir yes sir,” Dean grumbled good naturedly causing Burke to roll his eyes and turn around allowing Dean an escape further into the park. “But she’s not my girlfriend.”

“She’s not an interest in any investigation,” Burke offered.

“That’s not why she isn’t my girlfriend,” Dean said, sad smile on his face, checking his watch. “You should get home to that feisty wife of yours. It’s getting late and I’ll keep Neal occupied tonight.”

“Sure,” Burke rolled his eyes. “You’re just as obnoxious as he is.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Dean smirked, making for the shadows.

***

Dean was quiet. More than the usual lost-in-his-thoughts quiet.

The Dean that Neal knew before was never quiet. Even when he wasn’t really saying anything, he would rattle on incessantly about everything between carburetors to New England winter to haunted houses in south Florida.

This Dean doesn’t do that. Of course, this Dean has apparently been to Hell for forty years, averted the apocalypse, and helped to trap his brother in an unbreakable cage, all to end up in Indiana living in a house with a woman and a kid. This Dean was back to hunting and didn’t look completely happy about it. The Dean he knew was still there. It was just like he was oddly muted.

Neal frowned at him. “What’s really on your mind?”

“Are you really asking me that?” Dean cocked an eyebrow up, face otherwise mirthless. Classic Winchester deflection. Some things never change.

“No,” Neal countered. “What’s it like attending PTA meetings?”

Dean’s mouth pulled a slight grimace and an almost smile then finally asked, “Did you know Sam was alive?”

That was new. He’s almost talking.

“I didn’t even know you were alive until you called Mozzie eight months ago. I thought about using FBI resources to find you but I was afraid you’d died for good,” Neal admitted. “And if I had found out Sam was alive, I would have called you. It’s something you should know.”

“Are you just saying that to get into my good graces or are you just covering all your bases?” Dean asked. “You’re just conning me.” He shook his head and looked so sad.

That had been one of their problems. Dean’s trust issues and that fact that Neal would always be Neal-- constant con always on, but not with the people that matter. Neal could never get Dean to understand that he wouldn’t con Dean if he didn’t want him to, not with anything important, and nothing unforgivable.

“Isn’t that the same thing?” Neal asked, then waved his hand as if to wave the question away. “And I’m not conning you. I wouldn’t. I do have a moral compass, you know, even if it’s a little questionable.”

Dean scoffed.

“Seriously. I tend to have respect for someone who saved me from a poltergeist nearly throwing me over a rail,” Neal declared. “Not to mention the recent Black Dog in the park.”

“Your face, dude,” Dean said, almost smiling, remembering. “Almost as pale as that ghost, man.”

“Taught me to not steal from estate sales,” Neal admitted, grinning a little then shifted to serious. “Look, I would have told you because he’s your brother. I know that you aren’t as good without him. He fits into your world view. You forget, I knew you before Stanford, during and after. Whether you had built a life, a family, would not have made me hesitate to call if I had known.”

“Yeah man, I know,” Dean conceded, rubbing the back of his neck and looking away.

“Speaking of, where is your brother?” Neal asked.

“I left him at the library so I could get some air,” Dean said. “And I had to call Lisa.”

Neal felt a little sad at once. But Dean would have never come here even if Sam had known to send him. Neal couldn’t have put Dean back together, not when he barely kept himself together after Kate.

“Oh?” Neal asked.

“I was just making sure the wards on her house were holding,” Dean shrugged, shoulders tense.

“How’s Sam? Since breathing with him around is apparently hard?” Neal moved the conversation in a different direction.

“He’s different,” Dean admitted after some time, fiddling with the French press and refilling his mug.

“That happens,” Neal said. “He went to Hell, after all. And to be stuck with two archangels at that. He didn’t have his big brother for a year to call him on his bullshit.”

Dean scoffed, half chuckle and half pained escape of sound.

“It took me a while after going to Hell and dealing with those dick angels, but I learned to have a little faith in him because he had faith in me. That helped me see that he had grown up. That he makes his own decisions, whether I always agree with them or understand them. I respect that. I do.” Dean insisted.

“But?” Neal urged, scooting his mug over.

“Even with all that, even with the end of the world looking us in the face, he was still Sammy. He was trying to save everyone, not just letting me go for the lesser evil. And now he’s just-- shut off. Cold or something,” Dean rubbed the back of his neck, that nervous tic, and studied his coffee cup.

“You’ve had everyone looking out for you,” Neal said. “Sam didn’t have anyone except this extended family, this family who doesn’t know him like you do. Give him some time Dean. He’ll come around.”

“I’m not so sure,” Dean insisted, looking just this side of shifty. He wasn’t giving Neal the whole story yet.

“I don’t know what to tell you. I’d have questions about Sam too if I were you. Doesn’t change that I’m still a little pissed at you,” Neal admitted, feeling his anger bubble back to the surface. He was frustrated at Dean and it felt selfish for Neal to feel that way. But, Dean did owe him some kind of explanation.

“Oh really?” Dean lifted an eyebrow, challenging.

“Because letting me know that you weren’t dead would have probably been a complete inconvenience,” Neal muttered.

“Knowing would have put you in danger,” Dean argued.

“This isn’t dangerous now?” Neal asked.

“I wanted to protect you,” Dean said. “I’m trying to protect you.”

“By letting me think you were dead? I grieved you, man. This danger excuse is bullshit,” Neal spat.

“It was the apocalypse. All I’ve done in the last two years is bury people, Neal. I didn’t want one of them to be you.”

Neal nodded and consciously fought to relax his jaw. “You could have called, you know. Sent a postcard, or anything.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Dean said, exhaling. “Neal Caffrey likes to get a postcard when the world is ending.”

“You know what I mean,” Neal frowned.

“No, I get you,” Dean said. “I’ll do better next time.”

“Good,” Neal agreed.  
***  
Of course, he wouldn’t hear a peep from Dean for a whole two months until he, all at once, showed up in Neal’s room, looking completely and totally wrecked.

“It’s over,” Dean said in lieu of any other greeting, voice on the edge of broken. “And my brother doesn’t have a soul.”

“Dean,” Neal started but Dean halted him with a kiss. He tasted salt and the hint of tequila. Neal knew he shouldn’t go through with this. Dean was probably not in the right headspace for any thing like this, but he’d never struck Neal as the kind of guy to think things through. Besides, Neal’s wanted this since Dean swaggered back into his life.

Dean maneuvered Neal until his ass hit the table, knocking over a chair in the process. Neal grunted at the contact, breaking away form the kiss.

“I have a bed, you know,” Neal suggested, stealing another kiss and steering Dean towards the horizontal space while Dean worked at his tie and tossed it towards the couch. Neal would complain about the rumpling of his clothes much later, because he really liked that tie, but the sooner he could touch skin the better.

“Almost miss your button-size apartment from before,” Dean breathed pausing as his legs bumped against the bed. “Not as far to get to the bed.”

“Because that’s all it had room for,” Neal muttered, sliding Dean’s jacket off. “Too many layers. We’ve talked about this.”

“Says the guy who only ever has to worry about a stray drop of coffee as the stain he’ll come across,” Dean grumbled undoing doing the buttons on Neal’s shirt and sliding it off his shoulders and tossing it the direction of the tie. “Too many of these. I don’t have too many buttons.”

“Just three shirts,” Neal countered finally getting down to the t-shirt and pulling it over Dean’s head while he stepped out of his own pants then made quick work of Dean’s belt and jeans. Dean stepped out, then slid his boxers down and kicked them off and fell back on the bed, his erection curving up toward his belly.

Neal might have been a little guilty of staring, cataloging the differences, the scars that he could see, a tattoo that certainly hadn’t there before.

“Stop being a girl and get on the goddamn bed already,” Dean demanded, pulling Neal out of his reverie.

Neal rid himself of his own underwear and got on the goddamn bed. Stretching out on top of Dean he got back to exploring Dean’s mouth.

Dean reached for Neal’s dick, thumb stroking the sensitive tip, causing Neal to buck against him and gasp into Dean’s mouth.

“Just fucking get on with it,” Dean ordered rolling over and shifting up onto his knees to allow Neal access.

Everything about Dean wanted hard and fast, but Neal didn’t want to rush. Dean wanted to hurt, wanted something final, quick. Neal wanted to take his time, but he knew he didn’t quite have the luxury or self control tonight. He might just take time anyway, if he thought he could possibly be that patient.

He reached for lube and a condom. He slicked his fingers up and pushed the first in causing Dean to hiss out a breath.

“Stop being so careful,” Dean said, breath hitching as Neal eased a second finger in and scissoring until he slipped in a third.

“No,” Neal countered, like it was simple. Like he didn’t want to rush just as much. Even if he wanted to. A lot.

Dean pushed back against his hand when Neal brushed against the prostate with a little groan. Neal removed his hand and made quick work of the condom, slipping it over his hard cock and adding lube.

He lined up and slowly pushed in, taking time to open where his fingers couldn’t reach while Dean hissed out a breath.

“Christ, I forgot how much that burns,” Dean muttered and Neal stayed perfectly still, hands massaging at the bend of Dean’s hips.

“You’re so tight,” Neal said, easing out and pushing back in slowly, trying to tell from the tension of Dean’s freckled shoulders if he was going too fast. But Dean was tense all over, and Neal eased out once more and back in, sliding more readily. He started to get a rhythm.

“I don’t just bend over for anyone,” Dean offered and anything further was cut off with a moan when Neal hit him just right.

“You were talking too much,” Neal said, hitting Dean just right again and quickening his strokes, brushing the prostate every other stroke. He reached around to jerk Dean’s cock just as his thrusts started to stutter. He wouldn’t last long. The heat and squeeze becoming too much for Neal to draw this out. Not to mention how much he’d been thinking about this for the last two months.

Dean came in Neal’s palm. Neal gave two final thrusts and followed.

He pulled out of Dean’s ass, causing them both to hiss. Neal winced, partly on Dean‘s behalf and partly because he wouldn‘t have minded staying inside Dean all night. But sometimes other things are more important. He stood on wobbly legs and disposed of the condom and grabbed a towel, quickly giving Dean a wipe down followed by himself. When he made it back to the bed, Dean had recovered enough to stand.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Neal asked, completely baffled, but he shouldn’t have been.

“As nice as that was, I’ve got shit to do,” Dean started reaching for his pants.

“It can wait until morning,” Neal declared, deciding for him and reached to pull Dean back into bed. Dean let him.

“I bet you want to cuddle too,” Dean muttered, tucking himself around Neal.

“Part of my evil plan,” Neal confirmed, pulling Dean’s arm around his middle.

“Cuddling and then you take over the world,” Dean mumbled into Neal’s shoulder blade.

“Just don’t tell Burke that this was the start,” Neal said quietly.

“Your pillow talk has gone downhill,” Dean said, voice on the edge of sleep.

“I haven’t had a lot of practice,” Neal protested, yawning.

“Sure,” Dean half laughed, disbelieving, forgetting that Neal had a tendency to be a loyal dog instead of just a dog. Neal flirted like he breathed, but he longed for connections. Neal would flirt until he was out of breath, if it could make Dean forget for a little while, but first a nap. Neal had a feeling it would be a long road ahead of them both.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Artist:** [](http://liliaeth.livejournal.com/profile)[**liliaeth**](http://liliaeth.livejournal.com/)  
>  **Art:** Go forth and give love [HERE](http://liliaeth.livejournal.com/380689.html)  
> 


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